Free Nightmare in Angel City by Franklin W. Dixon

rockets."
    Frank and Joe hung back, watching as the rest of the audience left. "Go with them, Callie," Frank said. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "We'll catch up as soon as we can, but someone needs to stick with the tour in case we don't find anything."
    "Oh, all right," Callie said with a sigh. "Be careful."
    "We will," Frank replied. "Whatever you do, don't get separated from the tour."
    After one last, doubtful look, Callie followed the others out. Frank and Joe started back up to the stage as Peter reappeared from the curtains.
    "What are you boys doing here?" he asked uncertainly. "The tour's moved on." Peter wasn't smiling now.
    "We want to talk to you about your gun," Frank said.
    Suddenly Peter spun and bolted through the curtains. The Hardys ran up the stairs, pushing through the black cloth backing the stage. The backstage area was cluttered with mannequins and half-finished sets. Smears of paint had been carelessly left everywhere. "There he goes!" said Joe as Peter ducked behind some woodwork. Sprinting, Joe began closing the gap between them. Peter reached an emergency door. It swung open, and Joe knew they'd lose him if Peter got outside.
    He dove, sliding across the smooth, paint-spattered floor, and tackled Peter. They fell together to the floor. Desperately, Peter kicked Joe away. Joe scrambled to his feet and watched in awe as Peter performed a perfect backflip. In one motion he stood up and swung at Joe. Joe ducked the blow and slammed his fist into the young man's stomach, forcing the wind out of him. Peter dropped to his knees, clutching his gut.
    "Now can we talk about the gun?" Joe asked as he and Frank surrounded him.
    Still kneeling, Peter held up his hand. "I didn't know it was real," he said. "Not until you shot it during the act."
    "You didn't seem too surprised about it," Joe said, and raised his fist menacingly.
    "It's part of my job," Peter protested. "Even when things don't go right I have to make everything seem routine."
    "Is killing tourists routine around here?" Joe shouted at him. "How come it happened when we were onstage? Why'd you choose us?"
    "I didn't," Peter said. "I follow signals. The tour guides figure out who's the likeliest to go along with us, and they point out volunteers to me.
    "So our tour guide set us up?"
    "I don't know," Peter insisted. "She checked with Mr. Bates first, and he okayed it."
    "Bates?" Frank said, puzzled. "Who's that?"
    Peter stared at him. "You never heard of Stuart Bates? He's chairman of the board. He runs Meteoric Studios."
    "Why would he bother with something like this?" Joe asked.
    "He likes to come around to watch the crowds," Peter explained. "I don't know why. He never talks to me."
    "You saw him okay us for the act?"
    "It was funny. It looked to me like he suggested you, and your guide went along with it."
    Frank took it all in. "When did Bates take over Meteoric Studios?"
    "Eight or nine years ago," Peter said. "He saved the studio when it was about to go bankrupt. He financed the picture that put Meteoric back on its feet."
    Joe unclenched his hand. To Frank he said, "Remember what we heard? That was almost a decade ago."
    Frank nodded. "Two million dollars would go a long way toward financing a small movie. I bet the chairman of the board can get into the wardrobe anytime he wants "So he gets us into a deadly situation and switches the gun," Joe guessed. "Makes sense."
    "No," said Peter. "Mr. Bates was in the audience the whole time. He couldn't have touched the gun."
    Both of them turned to Peter. Joe grabbed his collar and jerked him to his feet. "You've been lying to us. You were the one who rigged the gun."
    "No!" Peter insisted. "I don't touch the guns. It's Jim. The ninja. He sets up all the props."
    "So where — " Joe began. But he had no chance to finish.
    "Joe," Frank yelled.
    A black-gloved hand had shoved a stiletto through a flat that Joe was standing in front of.
    Joe threw himself to the floor and rolled